


when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you're gonna believe them

by peacchy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Crushes, Eventual Relationships, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, happy birthday to my favorite sendai froggy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacchy/pseuds/peacchy
Summary: Tsukishima Kei receives a gift that keeps on giving.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 87





	when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you're gonna believe them

**Author's Note:**

> (short break from PoL to write something about my favorite sendai froggy.)
> 
> happy tsukki day.

Tsukishima Kei is fifteen when you first meet him.

“Sorry, do I know you?”

And you’re clutching on the satin ribbon that adorns the paper bag. It’s a birthday gift.

“Um, I’m from the other class,” you mumble. He doesn’t hear you.

“What?”

“I’m from the other class,” you repeat, a bit louder this time. “Nine-two. The room beside you.”

His eyelids droop down when he glances at the package you’ve stretched out for him to take.

“Do you want me to pass this on to someone?”

“N-no. It’s for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” your eyes flutter to his arched gaze. “I heard it’s your birthday. I’ve loved you since fifth grade—“

And he scoffs.

“Love? I don’t believe you.”

“No,” you butt in. You’re adamant. “It’s true. Accept it, please? The gift, I mean. Y-your feelings, on the other hand, I can wait.”

Lunch period signals its end with the sound of a ringing bell. Hesitantly, he mumbles a “thanks?” and takes the paper bag-pendulum that hangs between you both.

Tsukishima, the ever cautious boy that he is, is careful not to let his skin touch yours when he takes the bag.

He doesn’t open the gift until cleaning period wraps up.

Yamaguchi points a finger at the brown paper bag, hidden underneath the table.

“What’s that, Tsukki?”

 _Ah_. _I almost forgot._

He retrieves it. Pale, moon-white fingers unwrap the intricate ribbon.

It’s strawberry shortcake.

And he scoffs once more, this time with a blush of pink adorning the bridge of his nose.

Okay, maybe he does believe you.

* * *

Tsukishima Kei is sixteen when he learns that you attend the same high school as him.

“It’s you again. Strawberry shortcake girl.”

Your eyes peel away from the shoe lockers. They meet those honey-colored orbs, devoid of his questioning gaze this time.

True to the nickname, you're nothing short of tempting— he ends up scanning your features and he realizes your hair is longer,

your uniform is more fitting,

and your stare is more gripping.

He wonders if you've always looked this pretty. And he wonders why he didn't notice sooner.

You manage a dry laugh. “Haha, hello.”

Perhaps his heart skips. He decides to linger in your closer vicinity for a minute more.

“Don’t tell me you went to Karasuno to follow me.”

Then a drier laugh. Almost sarcastic, even. Something twists in Tsukishima’s chest.

“Don’t worry, I’m not in love with you anymore,” you answer nonchalantly.

Twist, twist.

Yet his knee-jerk reaction is—

“Good to hear. Did you move on or something?” he half-jokes.

“Yes. I have a boyfriend now.”

_Ah._

There’s an awkward pause before Tsukishima comes to a conclusion.

_That’s annoying._

Your locker clicks closed. “See you around, Tsukishima-san.”

He watches you disappear into the hallway and he doesn’t know why he anchors his gaze on you for so long.

Way too long.

“Boyfriend, huh,” he murmurs under his breath. “That, I don’t want to believe.”

* * *

Tsukishima Kei is seventeen when he gets sorted into the same class as you.

First, he tells himself it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Next, he has to remind himself not to stare at you.

Finally, you end up catching him.

“Do I look funny or something?” you ask him one time during free period. “You’re always looking in my direction.”

“I don’t do that.”

“I think you do.”

He shakes his head and you leave it at that. You pivot and start walking back to your seat.

That causes a fraying in his nerves.

“Wait, come back.”

And so you do— confused— but nevertheless, you do. “Do you need something?”

There’s a pause before his mouth parts. “Thanks.”

You raise a brow. “For?”

“The strawberry shortcake.”

A beat of silence.

"You mean the one in junior high?"

He nods.

You bite back a laugh.

“A bit late, aren’t you?”

“I guess."

You chuckle at the fond memory.

He takes a sharp breath. “I like you."

Yet he says it so plainly, you think he's pulling your leg. His eyes are as placid as they were in ninth grade.

~~His throbbing heart, though, is a completely different story.~~

A trademark dry laugh escapes you. “You’re late for that, too,” you comment, hiding shallow amusement.

His honey-colored eyes solidify into hues of gold. “I'm serious. Go out with me.”

The conversation halts. Tsukishima watches you blink wordlessly.

“I heard you broke up with your boyfriend. And that he was a huge dick or whatever."

He locks his gaze on you. "I’ll treat you better.”

You lean on the windowsill adjacent his chair and you watch his bangs tickle his brows.

“Go out with me,” he repeats. “On my fifteenth birthday, you said you'd wait for my feelings. It’s a few years late, but I like you nonetheless.”

He realizes it's the second time you've caused that blush of pink to adorn the bridge of his nose.

* * *

Tsukishima Kei is eighteen when he kisses you for the first time.

It’s summer break and you’re in his bedroom eating strawberry-flavored popsicles, lips tinted red with food coloring.

You’re unaware but he watches you inspect the popsicle stick.

He thinks that there’s another red-colored treat that he’d like to suck on.

There’s a pout that finds way to your mouth when the inspected wooden stick is deemed lacking the congratulatory message.

And he devises a way to rein in your attention.

“Look at mine," he waves the popsicle stick like bait. "I won.”

You whip your head towards his. “You did? Let me see.”

You crawl towards him, his legs now caging you in between.

In that second, he lures you in. In the next second, he goes in for the kill.

The real winning prize is, at first, rigid and numbing like ice. But it melts and melts and melts. And it dances on his tongue; it’s a medley of sweet and sweeter and he thinks it’s the only taste that will ever top his favorite dessert.

Then, it’s a bit sticky. Sticky because there’s a moment of cling to soft skin before he indulges once more. You smile in between breaths and it’s addicting because it gives him that twisty feeling in his gut— no, not the twist that makes his nose scrunch in an irritated itch— it’s the twist that spirals outward, from the thrumming of his chest to the clouding in his head.

When you retract, you’re gasping for air.

“Liar.”

“I'm still a winner, though.”

You giggle before warm gazes envelop you both.

"Hey," you whisper.

He leans in, your foreheads now touching. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

He believes you. With his entirety, he believes you.

"I love you too."


End file.
